Pacifica
by Athena's Helm
Summary: It's a hard life on the frontier of space. A gun is law, and whoever has the most guns and well-paid goons to use them is the lawmaker. A ship means work, and it makes Percy's task simple. Find a crew, a job- legal or not- and stay alive. AU.


"Beautiful, isn't she," remarked the young man, probably around thirty years old, stepping up the ramp into the hold of his new acquisition. He was a tall man of medium build, sporting a head of messy jet black hair. His clothes looked like they belonged on a 21st century casual Friday in an office somewhere; a lazily buttoned dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, and jeans. His overcoat disagreed. The massive, insulating grey trench coat was made of a modern, lightweight material; it barely weighed at all. A faded and defunct sergeant's rank insignia could be seen on the right shoulder.

The young woman, probably of the same age of the man, looked around, her face contorted in disgust. "You actually paid money for this piece of junk?" She was almost as tall as the young man, her long curly blonde hair in a not-so-neat ponytail. She looked straight out of a western, too, with a leather vest, riding pants, and high black boots. She was certainly a beautiful woman, but the young man would probably only admit that if he was very, very drunk. She was his best friend after all, and comrade of years of war. 'You're beautiful' is not the thing generally to say to your best friend.

The young man crossed the cargo hold, the floor creaking under him. He started up a rusty looking stairway on the far side, which groaned with every step he took. "Well, I didn't say she wasn't going to be a fixer-upper, but, with a good crew, we might just turn this ship into-oomph!" A stair gave out from under him, and his left leg leg fell through right to the hip. He suddenly found himself in a very awkward and painful position.

The young woman did a facepalm. "You're a fool, Percy. A complete fool."

"You can make fun later, Annabeth. Right now, a little help would be appreciated."

She faked a double take. "I'm not going anywhere near those stairs until we get them fixed. While you figure out how to get out of there, I'm going back to the engine room, mostly to make sure we even have an engine in the first place." She strode through a teardrop shaped door beneath the stairwell at the end of the cargo hold.

"Annabeth! _Annabeth!_" called Percy. After a moment of struggling uselessly in his predicament, he gave up and said simply, "shit."

* * *

_Flashback… ten years ago, during the Great War_

_ Coincidentally, 'shit' would be a pretty good summary of Percy's life to that point._

_ The bravado of HE-17 high explosive shells exploding over the trench day and night had become sort of background noise to the few surviving members of Bravo Company, 5__th__ Battalion, 1__st__ Brigade, 9__th__ Infantry Division, Confederacy of Independent Sovereign Systems (CISS) 5__th__ Army_. _Though technically, not of that mattered. The only surviving radioman in the brigade had been monitoring subspace communications for awhile now, and had found no evidence that the rest of the Army, much less the Division, still existed. _

_ It was good thing that the Core Systems Alliance (CSA) forces across the field hadn't noticed the severe lack of army they were facing. Or maybe they had lost just as many people during the eight months of trench warfare. What was abundantly clear to the survivors of Bravo Company, however, was that the Alliance still had at least one working artillery battery, and the Independent Systems had none._

_ "I've got something, sir," called the radioman excitedly in a hoarse voice, adjusting his dials. Sergeant Jackson, soot-faced and bleeding badly, hobbled over with the help of Corporal Chase. She had a vested interest in his survival; if he died, she became the leader of this whole mess (the bodies of several colonels, generals, majors, captains, and other officers lay nearby). And besides that, the two had bonded tremendously over the course of the months of fighting. She was his right hand man- woman, rather – and had become, he liked to joke, his right side woman since she had to help him along everywhere he needed to go by supporting him by his right arm and shoulder. This was due to the long, deep, painful gash down Percy's right leg that made it nearly impossible for him to walk._

_ As Percy and Annabeth reached the radioman, about a dozen other survivors gathered around eagerly. It was an Alliance radio station, but it was the best they could get. _

_ "…in other news, dozens of Independent planets have fallen today with the arrival of fresh Alliance recruits. The System Lords Zeus, Ares, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Artemis, Dionysus, Hermes, Apollo, Hera, and Demeter have all retreated from their home worlds into the depths of space, fleeing the arrival of Alliance troops at their palace gates. Poseidon and Athena are still holding out on their respective worlds, but just barely."_

_Percy muttered, "go dad!" at the mention of his father's holdout. Annabeth said nothing at the mention of her mother. The two had ended up in the lower ranks for different reasons; Annabeth was just a corporal because she had a falling out with her mother. Percy was a mere sergeant because he was technically illegal. After the birth of Dionysus, Zeus's final son and the youngest of the 12 System Lords, the first generation lords made a pact- to have no more children. The fear was that too many more children could lead to a usurpation of power. Poseidon and Zeus were both party to this treaty, as was their brother Hades. Hades, the "thirteenth," lived in the shadows, even before the lords were kicked there by the Alliance._

_ Since Percy, Perseus, was a son of Poseidon born after Dionysus, he was technically not allowed to remain alive. But, at the pleas of Poseidon, his sentence was commuted; he was not allowed to serve his father, and his father was not allowed to aid him in any way. _

_ The radio continued; "Independent forces also seem to be miraculously holding out on the border world of Pacifica-"_

_ The gathered soldiers gave a half hearted cheer at the mention of the miserable ball of rock they were currently stuck on._

_ "-but a full Alliance Corps is being deployed there to mop up stragglers… wait… this just in. A temporary ceasefire had been called for as the Alliance enters peace negotiations with the System Lords. Now let me turn over to our weather correspondent, Dave San-" someone shut off the radio._

_ "Peace," muttered Percy, sitting back in the dirt, almost not believing it._

_ "Sarge!" called a sentry, as the screeching firework-like sound of a launched flare replaced the din of artillery bombardment. Percy looked up. A yellow flare streaked up into the clouds from the Alliance line, lighting up the night sky._

_ "Yellow. What's yellow?" Percy asked confusedly. White was surrender… green was…. yellow….. blue…. ah, it was all a blur._

_ "It's a ceasefire flare," said Annabeth._

_ "Oh, right! I suppose they're gonna want confirmation… someone find a yellow flare!"_

_ "Got one right here, sir!" said a soldier, handing him a nearly empty flare box. Percy pulled out a yellow flare and fitted it into his rifle. He pointed the weapon into the sky, and pulled the trigger. That was the last shot he fired during the war._

_ The peace treaty was signed practically the next day (depending upon what planet you're from). It was not pretty. Everyone got an unconditional pardon, but the system lords themselves lost all their holdings to the Alliance and were exiled from Alliance space._

_ The Alliance now nominally held all of the colonized areas of the star group (a group of about a dozen varying stars orbiting each other)- the extent of human colonization. There was one problem, though. The outlying areas, the fringes the lords had held, still got no help from the wealthy core. As prosperous citizens lived in miles-high dura-glass skyscrapers and flew personal vehicles around the skyways of the core planets, the denizens of the fringe world remained in poverty. They farmed for subsistence and lived in wooden towns, using horses for transportation, like the long-gone frontier towns in America on old Earth. There was no Alliance protection, either- out here, a gun was law, and whoever had the most guns and the most men to use them was the lawmaker. _

_ Naturally, this led to a particular niche for men who happened to have guns and spaceships. They could smuggle contraband and sneak valuable exports from these impoverished worlds out past the prohibitive Alliance tariffs. This was the perfect role for the system lords to play in the new order of things. They crawled out of the shadows of exile and became the twelve crime lords, operating off of massive starships or secluded asteroid bases as headquarters, far from the prying eyes of Alliance patrols. _

_ The thirteenth, Hades, again was in shadows amongst the shadows. Not a one man knew where he truly was, but most everyone thought he was probably up to no good. Some even suspected that he was the reason that every man, woman, and child on the planet Generaux was addicted to a potent, life shortening drug._

_End of Flashback_

_

* * *

_

On the Bridge…

The controls on the bridge didn't look futuristic. Everything seemed just a tad more advanced than the knob, switch, and dial laden control center of an early 21st century Earth space shuttle. But the ship was much, much more than a simple orbiter.

"Well, she needs a name," remarked Percy, sitting in one of the decrepit looking yet somehow comfortable chairs on the bridge. He placed his precious sword, _riptide_, on the console in front of him and reached down to massage the ankle he had managed to twist falling through the stair.

Annabeth wrinkled her nose at the foul smelling air in the ship. "How about _Cow Turd?"_

"Har har," said Percy dryly. "Seriously, Annabeth."

"I was being serious," she insisted.

Percy decided to just ignore this. "What about… _Atlantis?"_

"Isn't that the name of your father's flagship?"

"Oh. Right," said Percy.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "No creativity."

"It's more creative than _Cow Turd!" _Percy protested.

"No it isn't," Annabeth said. "Well, we could call it-"

"-_her_," interrupted Percy.

"Fine. We could call her…_Indefatigable."_

"Inde-whos-a-whatists?" spluttered Percy.

"Break up the word, Seaweed Brain," sighed Annabeth.

"Um… fatigable… fatigue… so sort of 'tiring,' and in..de… wait! That's a double whatever, right?"

"Double negative. What, did you not go to school?" Annabeth said, pretending not to know the answer. "Oh, wait. That's right. You didn't."

"Hey! I grew up out here in these backwater shitholes! Have you seen any schools out here?"

"And no, it's not a double negative," Annabeth continued. "It's from French, so in this case, 'de' means down or utterly."

"So… it means no one can beat the crap out of you?"

"It means untiring."

"Oh. Alright. _Indefatigable _it is." Percy yawned ironically. "Not."

"Fine; you think of something."

"How about…_Pacifica_," Percy suggested.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. "We lost that battle. Pretty damn badly."

"Pacific means calm or serene. It's a nice name."

Annabeth sighed. "_Pacifica_ it is."

"Well, I'm beat. Time to hit the hay." Percy got up from the chair and started towards the doorway at the rear of the bridge.

"No no no! We still have stuff to work out here," said Annabeth, dragging Percy back by the arm.

"Like what?" protested Percy.

"We are going to need to find a pilot, first of all. And I know just the person."

"Wait, I thought you said you could fly!"

Annabeth sighed and looked a little downcast. "I can, technically. But for me, it was all just numbers and vectors and calculations. My piloting instructor would say, 'you're a good technical flyer, Annabeth, but to truly be a pilot, you've got to _feel_ the spacecraft. You've got to feel her engine, how she handles. It's not something you can just dumb down to numbers.'"

Percy smirked. "You sure that wasn't your piano instructor."

Annabeth laughed. "She told me the same thing, basically."

"So, you know just the man, eh?" Percy remembered.

"Just the woman, actually. Except… there might be a slight problem," Annabeth said uncomfortably.

"Hmm?"

Annabeth glanced sidelong at Percy. "She's a daughter of Zeus."

He just shrugged. "As long as she don't harbor any resentment for my parentage, I won't have any problem."

"Even in that case, we still might have a problem."

"And what's that?"

"Well," said Annabeth. "The two of you are just… too similar. You're either going to get along perfectly, or not at all. Fifty-fifty."

"Hey!" exclaimed Percy, spreading his arms magnanimously. "I'm a pretty friendly guy, ya know? We'll get along fine."

Annabeth made an unbelieving face but let it slide. "That still leaves one problem."

"Geez," said Percy. "How many more problems are there?"

"Just this last one," Annabeth assured. "Remember the planet Haven."

"Course I do!" exclaimed Percy. "Spent a few years there for training and all. Haven: the market, safe harbor, employment center, and training ground for smugglers, independents, and the not-so-much-appreciated of the galaxy. Run by that old man… Chiron, was his name. Great fellow, great fellow. Planet's protected by a treaty or something, ain't it. Doesn't sound like a problem to me."

"That's not the problem. Remember, about five years back, the big fire fight there," Annabeth recalled."

"Yeah. I was out as first mate on the smuggling freighter _Maelstrom_ at the time. Missed the whole thing."

"Well, this woman I was talking about, Thalia, led the defense of the planet. It was going pretty badly for us independents, but since the planet is guaranteed as a save haven by treaty, the crime lords had to show up and head off the illegal attack by a pissed off Alliance Admiral… remember how your sentence for being born was, instead of death, to have a non-interference policy between you and your father."

"Uh… yeah," said Percy. "Oh, I see where this is going."

"Thalia was subject to the same agreement when she was born in… about the same time as you, actually. When Zeus's mercenaries landed, Thalia and some defenders were held up on a hill. Because of the non-interference agreement, Zeus was forced to stand by and watch the position get overrun before helping out."

"Oh… so she's dead. How does that help us," asked Percy cluelessly.

Annabeth shook her head. "No, she wasn't dead. She was badly wounded, though, and the medical facilities on the planet were destroyed in the attack."

"-and Zeus couldn't have her treated on and of _his_ ships by _his_ people because of the non-interference thingy," finished Percy.

"Exactly. But Zeus is human, just like everyone else, and didn't have it in him to just stand there and watch his daughter die. So when they found her dying on that hill, he put her in a stasis chamber, and left her there. Chiron ordered a monument to her build around the chamber. Everyone gladly chipped in for it."

Percy was confused again. "So why didn't they just break her out of the chamber once the planet's medical facilities were built."

"The stasis chamber Zeus put her in is too strong. To open it, one needs a key. A good, old fashioned key. But he knew that he would never be able to resist the temptation to go to her and use the key to break her out of it, so he contracted Hephaestus to build a small army of automatons. He left them, programmed to guard the key, on a desolate moon somewhere in Alliance space," Annabeth concluded.

Percy looked thoughtful. "And she's a friend of yours, is she?" he asked after a moment. "A decent person."

Annabeth nodded.

"A good pilot?"

Annabeth nodded again. "Best in the verse, I dare say."

"Alright!" Percy decided. "Let's get the _Pacifica_ all fired up and go find this key thingy!"

Annabeth's eyes widened in surprise. "What? Seriously?"

"Yeah! She'll have to work without getting a cut of the profits for awhile to make up for the expenses of rescuing her and all, but hey! Why not?"

"Well, I, uh…" Honestly, she was expecting to have to talk him into it.

"But before we go of on any dangerous expeditions, we should grab ourselves another crew member," Percy said. "A pilot in the old fashioned sense, like the harbor pilots hired for inshore navigation by merchants and warships in the days of sail."

"Like a guide?" Annabeth asked.

"Yes. We need someone who knows the space lanes and like the back of his hand. Someone who knows someone on every worthless rock from here straight to the core and back around… Remember that chap, Grover Underwood? What do you suppose he's up to now?"

"Picking daisies, I suppose. Actually, I haven't seen him in awhile; he might be pushing them up for all I know," Annabeth mused.

"I'll try to raise him on the net right now, actually," said Percy, walking over to a console on the bridge. "What was his code? Oh, right." Percy muttered the components of the subspace dialing code as he punched them into the computer."Alfa-Yankee-Tango-Zulu-November-Oscar-Lima-Six-Niner-One-Zero."

The words SUBSPACE LINK ESTABLISHED: UNDERWOOD, GROVER…LOCATION: HAVEN popped onto the screen. They flickered away to be replaced with the view through the cam on the other end. It was hard to see much of anything. It looked like it was probably buried in junk.

Then, a hand swiped away all the obstructing objects, and the unmistakable curly hair and thin wispy moustache of Grover Underwood appeared on the screen.

"What the hell? No one has called me at this number in- god damn. Percy Jackson? Is that you, ya wry bastard?"

Percy grinned. "Good to see you too, Grover. And guess who else is here." He motioned for Annabeth to come over.

"Annabeth Chase," Grover said, smiling. "As beautiful as ever, my friend. And the answer is yes, Percy."

"Umm…what?" Percy asked.

"You've called to ask me to be best man at yours and Annabeth's wedding, right?"

Percy choked. Annabeth blushed. "No, no," Percy coughed. "No, we're not even… what, no… gah, what the heck gave you that impression?"

"No? You're not even together? Jesus Christ, Percy! When the hell are you two going to finally get it on? Get a move on, Percy! Man up! I mean, really! It's obvious that-"

"Grover," interrupted Percy. "I called to offer you a job. Now if you are just going to keep going on about-"

That got Grover's attention. "No, no, I'll stop," he frantically assured. "I'm all ears, Percy. What's this job?"

"I've got a ship, Grover. A fine ship. You have contacts. You know people, you know the planets, the moons, the space lanes. We want you as a guide. A navigator and communications officer, sort of," Percy proposed.

"And your operations will be-"

"Not quite legal, yes," Percy finished. "Smuggling and the like."

Grover looked between Annabeth's and Percy's hopeful faces. "As long as my cut's decent."

"Ten percent."

"I want fifteen."

"I'll give you eleven."

"Thirteen."

"Twelve, take it or leave it."

Grover examined Percy's face. "Fine, Twelve percent. You've got yourself a deal."

"Good. Meet us at Thalia's monument. 1800 hours, Galactic Standard Time. Don't be late." Percy shut off the subspace link.

"So… make for Haven?" Annabeth asked after a minute or so of silence.

Percy nodded. "Start the takeoff sequence."

"In-system thrusters to VTOL position," announced Annabeth, flipping a few switches above the pilot's seat. Outside, the two massive thrusters, on the ends of metal pylons attached amidships, rotated to face the ground.

"Initiating engine sequence." A horrible churning noise wafted in from farther aft as the generators. "Switching to chemical propulsion."

Traditional chemical fuel propulsion had to be used to accelerate out of the atmosphere due to the fact that the normal Ion drive systems could not operate efficiently in the presence of other charged particles. The engines kicked in, and the ship began to shake.

"Lifting off… ten meters. Twenty meters. Thirty meters. Forty meters," Annabeth reported.

"Punch it!" ordered Percy.

Because of the low thrust levels from the relatively small CFP engines, it took awhile to gain enough acceleration to reach exit speeds. The solution: get yourself decently far above the ground, then accelerate forward at an upward angle, in a more similar fashion to a jet aircraft or fighter gaining altitude.

"Increasing to max thrust, switching engines back to forward mode," Annabeth said, checking dials and turning some choice knobs. Outside, the _Pacifica_ began to streak forward as the engines slowly began to rotate from their nozzle-down position back to having their nozzles face rearward.

After gaining a few dozen more meters this way, the engines reached their forward-backward orientation, and the ship was simply moving forward.

"Increase pitch. Let's break atmo," Percy ordered.

"Up angle forty-five," announced Annabeth, as the engines turned yet again. The ship was going fast now. Very fast. Not much more than fire could be seen outside the dura-glass viewport.

"Breaking atmo in three…two….one."

The fire stopped and tiny tendrils of smoke drifted from the space frame of the _Pacifica_ as the space frame cooled. Millions of stars resolved before their eyes, twinkling white pinpricks in the vast black blanket of space. The star in the system was behind them, but the nearby stars of the star group humanity inhabited could be seen; they were obviously larger than the rest of the pinpricks of light, thanks to the fact that they were just light-days away.

"Set a course and power up the ion engines. Make for haven at .22 light," Percy ordered. Thankfully, Haven was in the same star system as they were. The _Pacifica_ would have no trouble making its way there in time to pick up Grover.

"Switching to Ion drive…course laid in," Annabeth said. "Accelerating." The ion drive was not on the pylons; it was the massive bulbous structure at the ship's rear. Due to relatively low thrust levels from Ion drives, large ones were required

"I'm going to go hit the hay now. I suggest you do the same once we're on course."

"Wait."

"Ungh," groaned Percy.

"We've got a blinking red light over here," said Annabeth, pointing at a rather large, blinking red light.

"Aaaannnnddd...?"

"And what?"

"And what does it mean?" asked Percy.

"Oh, uh…" Annabeth hit a few buttons. "It says 'loosing charge in plasma bridge neutralizer, starboard engine.'"

"Damn it, that didn't take long. I'm going to scrounge around for another hollow cathode. How long do we have before charge goes completely?"

"A few hours," Annabeth assured. "It's dying slowly."

"Right," said Percy, leaving the bridge.

The way Ion thrusters work can be explained simply. Xenon gas is continually pumped into the reaction chamber. A separate injector, the 'electron gun' cathode, shoots electrons are shot into the chamber, accelerated by a magnetic field and charge differentials with an internal anode. They impact Xenon atoms at such a speed that electrons are displaced, resulting in a number of free-floating electrons and a positively charged ion of Xenon. The ions will diffuse towards the end of the reaction chamber, where an electric field focuses them through a pair of aperture grids-the first positively charged and the second negatively charged. The difference between the grids creates electric potential energy, and the positive ions are accelerated and expelled out the rear, propelling the craft forward.

Here, a second cathode, the plasma bridge neutralizer cathode, must inject a constant stream of electrons into the ionized plasma stream to neutralize it boy re-completing the Xenon atoms. This ejection of electrons prevents the spacecraft from accidentally becoming negatively charged. Also, without the neutralizer, the positive ions would be attracted back towards the engine, thereby cancelling the attained thrust.

In other words: if the neutralizer fails, the ship stops moving. They could use the chemical propulsion from the rotating thrusters on the pylons, of course, but that is inefficient. Hey, petrol is expensive in the future, okay?

So Percy soon found himself rooting around the rusty engine room for a spare cathode.

* * *

Sixteen hours, one new cathode, and a frustratingly small amount of sleep later, Percy was jolted out of his dozing by the ship's proximity alert. Percy stumbled out of bed and hastily pulled his grimy clothes back on. He tripped over to the door and groggily slapped the button to open it. Nothing happened. Percy made a mental note to fix the hydraulics later, and pushed with all his might on the door handle. Which promptly snapped off.

"'She may be old, but she's got character,' he says," Percy muttered as he pushed on the door with his shoulder, angrily mocking the man who sold him the ship. "'She may be old, but the ol' BC-304s will last lifetimes if you take good care,' he says."

Finally, with a sickening wrenching of metal, the door opened upwards and Percy climbed up the four-rung ladder into the corridor. He walked a few yards to the bridge, where Annabeth was already sitting in the pilot's seat.

"We're coming up on Haven," she said unnecessarily, as Percy eyed the massive desert world taking up the entire bridge window.

"How long to atmo?"

Annabeth glanced at some dials. "Ten seconds. I'm switching to Chemical Fuel Propulsion now."

Percy sat in the copilot's chair at the bridge's left console desk.

The ship started to shake as it entered the atmosphere. The dura-steel window began to glow red hot, and fire soon engulfed their view.

"Ease up a bit," Percy ordered. Annabeth pulled back on the stick, and the decent angle of the _Pacifica _shallowed. The fire went away, giving them a view of nice, beautiful… desert.

A green light on the console attracted Percy's attention. He hit the adjoining button. On a small screen next to that, a bored looking old man's face appeared.

"Welcome to Haven," the customs officer droned. "As long as your intentions are peaceful, we wish you an enjoyable stay. If your intentions are otherwise, may you die a horrible fiery death. This planet is protected by interstellar treaty, and powering up of any weapons is in direct violation of that treaty. Now… registration?" he inquired kindly.

"_Pacifica_. Affiliation: independent," Percy said.

The old man looked confused. "Not in our database."

"It's a new ship," Percy explained.

The old man glanced up at his view screen suspiciously. "New?"

"Well, we bought it… slightly used," Percy said defensively.

The customs officer sighed. and hit some buttons. "We'll have to make a new entry for you then."

"Ship Name: _Pacifica._ Class: BC-304. Owner: Perseus Jackson. Operator: Perseus Jackson. Captain: Perseus Jackson," Percy listed.

The officer typed the information, creating the entry. He looked at the name again. "Perseus Jackson?"

"Yeah."

"One moment," the customs officer said. "My boss is expecting you. I'll patch you through to his office."

"Your bo-" but before Percy could finished the question, the kindly old face of Chiron appeared on the screen.

"Percy Jackson," he said, grinning widely. "It's been awhile since you bothered to drop by my little Haven here. I see you've got yourself a ship."

Percy smiled. "A fine ship, isn't she?" he asked rhetorically.

"I'm looking… I'm looking…" said Chiron, apparently looking at a viewscreen. "And I'm surprised she even flies."

Feeling a bit grumpy, but deciding it would be best to change the subject, Percy said, "and guess who else is here." He waved Annabeth over.

"I'm trying to fly this thing," Annabeth complained, still wrestling with the controls. "I can't come over there." Percy rolled his eyes and turned the communication system's optical input to face towards her.

"Annabeth Chase? Is that you?" Chiron asked.

"Chiron?"

"The very same," Chiron confirmed. "Glad to see you and Percy are finally together. When's the wedding?"

Percy and Annabeth both choked simultaneously, the involuntary confusions of the latter momentarily sending the ship off course.

Chiron was laughing. "Grover said I would get a good kick out of that one."

"I'm gonna strangle that hairy little-"

"Hey, no violence! You have clearance to land in the city's north outskirts, landing pad Echo-One-Niner."

Percy nodded, still fuming. "Thanks, Chiron," he muttered. "_Pacifica _out."

* * *

The monument that was built around Thalia's stasis chamber looked like a huge marble tree, probably because the people who lived on the desert rock of Haven were tired of not being able to look outside and see trees. The nearby Class-F Star caused enough problems for Haven that the terra-forming had not quite worked properly, and the planet's deteriorating weather control system certainly didn't help the matter. Temperatures could spike to 72 degrees Celsius during the day and drop to negative 25 degrees Celsius at night. So, naturally, Grover was standing in the shade on the monument's southeast side when Percy and Annabeth found him.

The two ducked into the shade next to Grover as soon as they arrived. Percy wiped the sweat of his brow. "Just as hot, dry, and sunny as I remember it. Got any sun block, Grover?"

"Yeah, got some right here," Grover said, digging through his backpack. "SPF-1500. Best stuff there is."

Percy took it and tried to squeeze some into his hand. "All empty," he muttered, tossing it back to Grover. "I'm not exactly dressed for the weather, either," said Percy, gesturing at his button-down collared shirt and jeans.

"Yeah. I've got an idea," Grover said. "Let's get to your ship and get off this rock."

"No arguments here," Annabeth muttered, taking a swig from her water flask.

* * *

In the ship's mess, Grover greedily lapped up entire quarts of water, explaining, "first time I've had cold water in near three years."

Percy and Annabeth were also at the table, sipping slowly at their bottles of light beer. They were nervous as to how Grover would perceive their idea on how to get a pilot. But they had to break it to him eventually.

"Grover," Annabeth started.

"Hmm?" he responded, accidentally letting water drip down his front. "You know what else I haven't had in awhile? Enchiladas."

Percy did an abrupt head-desk.

"Grover," Annabeth repeated.

"What?"

"We…we're trying to get a pilot for the ship," Annabeth started.

"Have anyone particular in mind?" Grover asked, taking another swig of water.

"Thalia Grace," Annabeth stated simply.

All of that water went straight out Grover's nose.

"You mean that woman in stasis? You're kidding, right? You'd have to be a fool to try to get the key to that stasis chamber. A complete loon! A crazy… uh…uh…." Grover trailed off as he looked between the serious faces of his crewmates. "You're joking, right?" he whispered uncertainly.

Percy shook his head. "We need to know which planet has the key."

"Well, I don't know," Grover said.

Percy sighed sadly.

"Bu…but I know who does," Grover provided.

"Who?"

"A guy named Charles. Charles… Beckendorf, I think his name is. He's a foreman in Hephaestus's forges. He designed the facility where the key is kept."

"And you do know where the hell Hephaestus's forges are, right?" Percy asked reasonably. After all, the crime lords' bases of operation were some of the best kept secrets around.

"Sure do. It's on a large asteroid called Vulcan, orbiting Verona."

"Great!" Percy said, slapping the table. "I knew we hired you for something. Grover, get up to the bridge and help Annabeth plot a course; it's not too far from here to Verona. Verona's the closest star to this one, if remember correctly."

"And just for the record, this is a horrible idea," Grover said. "You should really find some other pilot."

* * *

Verona was a relatively dim star just a light day away from Haven. It took them nearly five days to reach it, and the three crewmembers spent most of their time trying to keep the _Pacifica_ from falling apart. They had to replace the Ion engine's injector cathode twice, patch up the fusion reactor's containment system, and practically rebuild several power conduits. Annabeth, having some medical training, spent a lot of time in the infirmary. She had to constantly monitor radiation levels and give inoculations.

The appearance of the red Class-M star Verona out the viewport was a welcome sight to the exhausted crew.

Grover, and Annabeth, walked into the engine room where Percy, sweaty, grimy and shirtless, was trying to keep the fusion generator running. It was 65 degrees centigrade in the room, according to the thermometer, and the generator was running hot.

"Alright," Grover said. "I just got off the horn with one of my contacts in Hephaestus's organization. He said that this Beckendorf is getting tired of working in the forges. He wants out."

"Well that's good," said Percy, wiping his forehead. "Makes this a lot easier."

"Yeah, but Hephaestus knows he wants out, so he has Beckendorf on a very short leash. We'll have to go to his quarters to fetch him."

"And how exactly are we going to do that? Especially if Hephaestus doesn't want anyone fetching him," Percy protested.

"My contact assured me that docking bay three would be unlocked and unguarded. He has also given me a set of top level pass codes," Grover provided, waving a thin, transparent data chip. "I downloaded them onto this."

"Alright," said Percy pulling his shirt back on and getting out of the engine room. "I'll go find some ski masks."

"Ski masks?" called Grover.

"They have security cameras, right?" Percy asked. "We need ski masks. Keep that generator together while I'm gone."

"Damn, its hot in here," muttered Grover, stepping fully into the engine room.

* * *

"Steady," Percy muttered to Annabeth as the _Pacifica _drifted towards docking port three on the side of the massive red asteroid. The forges were cut into its interior and sealed to be airtight. Oxygen was shipped to the rock weekly to keep the air 'fresh.'

The ship's maneuvering thrusters fired in short measured bursts, countering and balancing each other out into a steady vector. The clank of metal on metal told them that they had made contact, then a suction noise assured them the airlock was pressurized.

"Alright," Percy said, pulling on his ski mask. "Annabeth, you're with me… and put your hair up. You've got some curls hanging out the mask. Grover, hold down the fort." Percy stuck his favorite revolvers in hip holsters under his trench coat. Annabeth did the same.

The docking bay was unguarded, as promised, and the duo crept down the hall, listening intently. "It's drafty in here," Percy muttered.

"The forges probably generate so much heat that they don't bother with heating systems. Leaves the outer fringes cold, I suspect," Annabeth said.

"Which way?" Percy asked, reaching a hallway intersection.

"Grover said 'left, left, right, right, left'."

They crept quietly along the dimly lit corridors. The hanging lights flickered ominously, and some of them made strange humming noises. They didn't meet anyone the whole way. Annabeth suggested that most of the workers were probably in the forges or the cafeteria.

"What if this Beckendorf character isn't in his quarters?" Percy asked as they rounded the final turn, arriving at Beckendorf's room.

"Grover's contact said that he usually is at this time."

"Let's hope he's right," Percy muttered, swiping the forged key card in the door's key slot. The light blinked green.

Percy drew one of his revolvers. "Cover me," he breathed. Annabeth took up position on the side of the doorframe without hinges. "One…two…three!" Percy turned the handle and kicked with all his might. "SHIT!" he cursed, recoiling from the motionless door, clutching his right foot.

"Oh, did I forget to motion that the door says 'pull' on it," said Annabeth innocently, giggling quietly and pointing at the word 'PULL' clearly printed on the door.

Percy glared at her through his mask. "I hate you _soooo_ damn much." He pulled the door open and stepped inside, Annabeth following swiftly behind him. He leveled his revolver at a figure in the dark.

"Hit the lights," Percy muttered. Annabeth fumbled for, and found, the light switch.

The dark figure resolved into a strong, kindly looking middle-aged man fearfully clutching a wrench. He was wearing a grimy dark brown ironsmith's apron over a cleanly polished orange hazmat working outfit. The helmet sat in the corner of the room.

"You Charles Beckendorf?" Percy demanded, looking down his iron sights.

"Yes…I mean no, no" the man stuttered incoherently. "Maybe…it depends, I suppose. Are you here to kill me- I mean, him?"

Percy pulled out his other revolver.

"Fine, fine," the man said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm Beckendorf."

"Good," said Percy. "Now, any cameras in here?"

"Uh, front left, in the top corner."

Annabeth swung around and plugged the device with a bullet. She and Percy both pulled off their ski masks. Percy tossed his second revolver in the air and caught it by the barrel, handing it butt-first to Beckendorf. "We're here to break you out. I'm Percy Jackson. This is my associate, Annabeth Chase."

"H…hi," Beckendorf responded shakily as he took the revolver.

"I own a ship," Percy said. "An old BC-304. We need an engineer. We'd hoped you'd be it."

"A BC-304? And it still works?" Beckendorf asked incredulously

Percy was about to say yes, but Annabeth beat him to it. "Not really," she said.

"Well, those old ships are easy to tinker with. A good mechanic's sandbox, if you get what I'm saying…what about the pay?"

"Your cut'll be twelve percent," Percy offered. "Smuggling operations."

"You've got yourself a deal!" Beckendorf said, shaking Percy's hand enthusiastically. "Not going to miss this place, I'll tell you that."

"Good. Pack your stuff. We're leaving," Percy ordered, pulling his ski mask back on.

Beckendorf didn't have much to pack. It was a good thing, because they were in a hurry. Grover reported over radio that the station security had noticed the strange ship docked there.

* * *

"Faster," muttered Percy, as they fast walked down the hall, trying to look normal despite the ski masks. "One more turn."

"Hey, you!" shouted an armed soldier, brandishing and automatic weapon. "Stop right there."

"Shit! Run!" yelled Percy, drawing his revolver and firing a shot at the man, hitting him in the knee.

As the three ran down the hall, Percy talked to Grover with his radio earpiece, "fire her up, Grover. We're coming in hot."

They could hear the hum of the fusion reactor as they closed with the airlock, Percy putting suppressive fire down the hall with his revolver. As they reached the end, they took cover behind some crates. "Percy, key!" said Annabeth, standing by the airlock door.

Percy tossed her the data chip and fired a few more rounds at the figures moving down the hallway.

The door slid open, and the three stepped deftly inside, closing it quickly behind them, listening to the clunking of several bullets against the door just as it closed. "Annabeth, get to the bridge and get us out of here," Percy ordered, walking onto his ship and taking off his mask. "Beckendorf, come with me. We need you in engineering."

Beckendorf was looking around in horror at the chipped paint and rusty interior of the cargo hold.

"Hey, no judging," Percy snapped. "I didn't hire you to judge. Come this way."

They stepped into the sweltering engine room. Percy pointed the key areas out. "That's the fusion reactor," he pointed to a small box in the center. "Ion drive's over there," he pointed to the rear wall. "Power distribution and hydraulics to the Arcjet pylons," he pointed to switch boards on either side.

Beckendorf, however, was already crouched near the ion drive, flipping switches to remove the plasma bridge neutralizer cathode. It slid out of a hole and, since the part went all he way through the ship, a little cap closed over it. "Who installed the PBN cathode?"

"I did," said Percy proudly. "It was giving us some trouble, so I had to put a new one in."

Beckendorf looked at the device disgustedly. "You did a horrible job," he said, and got to work putting it back in properly.

Percy's smile disappeared. He sighed in resignation "I'll be on the bridge. Intra-ship communicator is over there. Call up if you need anything."

* * *

"How we doing?" Percy asked Annabeth, stepping onto the bridge.

"No pursuit yet, but I had to engage the Arcjets. I'm not getting anything out of the Ion drive."

"Beckendorf is replacing the plasma bridge neutralizer again," Percy explained. "He should have it fin-"

"The neutralizer is re-engaged," Beckendorf's voice came over the comm. system. "Go ahead and fire up the Ion drive. I've tinkered with it a bit, too. You should be able to hit .24 light now."

"Alright, let's get the hell out of here, shall we?" announced Percy. Annabeth switched back to the ion drive, and the _Pacifica_ darted out into space.

* * *

The ship's StayFresh Brand Advanced Refrigeration and Cryo System was designed to keep fruits and vegetables good for years on end. Unfortunately, it was hopelessly broken, and they were all forced to eat pasta with butter sauce for dinner that night.

"So," said Beckendorf, swallowing a mouthful of farfalle. "I figure that if I'm going to be living on this boat with you guys, I should get to know you." He coughed. "For instance, you two seem to know each other quite well," he pointed at Percy and Annabeth. "When did you meet?"

Percy sat back in his chair. The wooden legs creaked ominously. "Well, I'm Poseidon's son, you see. So I wasn't allowed to serve in his organization. I got forced to make a living on my own."

"Harsh," observed Beckendorf.

Percy shrugged. "It's better than being executed, I'll tell you that."

"And my mother is Athena. We got in a fight at one point, and I got thrown under the bus," Annabeth added.

"So we both, and this was before we met, enlisted in the Independent Army when the big war came around. Before long, I was promoted to sergeant, put in command of a platoon, and deployed to Pacifica with the 5th Army. Annabeth, a corporal at that point, was in my platoon as my executive officer."

"I heard fighting was pretty bad on Pacifica," Beckendorf said.

Percy sighed. "Let me put it this way. By the end of the third week there were so many dead officer that I was in command of the entire brigade. But there were only a few hundred soldiers left in the brigade. There was barely a company with more than one or two dozen survivors. By the time the battle was over, the ninety soldiers I had with me were the only surviving independent troops on the planet. Ninety men and women, of an army originally numbering nearly a hundred thousand."

"Percy and I became friends through the course of that ordeal," Annabeth picked up the story. "We did our best to stick together over the next few years, but we couldn't always find a ship that needed two extra crewmembers. I served on so many ships, I can't even remember them all. Freighters and smugglers, mostly."

"Eventually I saved up enough money to buy this ship," Percy said, patting the table.

"I've probably served on more ships than any of you," said Grover. "I worked as a roving ambassador for Haven most of my life. Established contacts on almost every planet in the verse."

"And how'd you meet them," asked Beckendorf nodding towards Percy and Annabeth.

"One of my jobs was to find handy, intelligent people in need of work and bring them to Haven to be trained up a little and hopefully hired to work aboard a smuggling or transport ship," Grover explained. "I found them on… oh, where was that?"

"New Belgrade, I think. On Barhaktova," Percy suggested. "That's where they dumped all us survivors of the war who had nowhere to go."

"Oh, right. I found them in New Belgrade spaceport on Barhaktova and arranged transport to Haven. We got boarded by pirates on the way there. Percy and Annabeth organized a successful defense," Grover said.

"Hmm," said Beckendorf, thinking. "So you two," he pointed at Percy and Annabeth, "are a couple?"

Annabeth did a head-desk. Percy choked on his pasta.

Grover smirked.

"No, they're not," Grover clarified. "But it's fun to ask that question just to get on their nerves- hey, stop kicking me, will ya, Annabeth? Ow, that hurts."

"What about you, Beckendorf- or do you prefer Charles- what's your story?" Percy asked, as Annabeth continued to kick Grover.

"Beckendorf is fine," he responded. "That's what most people call me. Definitely don't call me Charlie, though. I hate that." Beckendorf took a deep breath. "I was thirty when Hephaestus recruited me into his organization. It right was after the war, which I missed, and he was trying to get his little criminal empire together. I had been working as a metalsmith out on Cannan. That's where he set up his headquarters."

"What were you doing during the war?" Annabeth asked.

"Metalworking, of course. Our pay went up threefold during the war because both factions desperately needed guns, swords, and armor plates."

"There's one particular experience of yours that we're particularly interested in," Percy said, leaning forward.

"Yes?"

"We hear you designed and oversaw construction at the facility built for Zeus to guard Thalia Grace's stasis chamber," Percy continued.

"You hear correctly…"

Percy and Annabeth exchanged glances. "We need to know where it is," Annabeth said. "We want Thalia Grace as our pilot."

Beckendorf's eyes widened. "You're insane."

"Is it possible, though?" asked Percy.

"You're completely off your rocker."

"That's what I told them," Grover put in.

"Is it _possible_?" Percy repeated.

"Possible…yes. Advisable, no," Beckendorf said. "It's deep in Alliance space, and guarded by numerous automated defenses."

"Good," said Percy, standing up and walking out of the mess room. "Let's go to the bridge, put the coordinates in, and be on our way.

"He's psychotic," Beckendorf muttered to the others.

"No argument there," said Grover, grinning. "But he's Annabeth's psycho, so don't insult him in front of her."

Annabeth kicked Grover hard in the knee.

"Ow…fine, fine, I'll shut up."

* * *

**Well, if you haven't noticed that this story is inspired by the TV show Firefly, I feel very sorry for you. It's a great show, even though it just lasted one season. They have a few episodes on Hulu…you should check it out if you get the chance.**

**Anyhow, this story, obviously, doesn't actually take place in the Firefly universe or use any Firefly characters, so its technically not a crossover. I just borrowed a few of the basic ideas of the show… **

**-human kind is living on a large number of terra-formed planets and moons orbiting a bunch of stars which orbit each other. **

**-There's no faster than light travel**

**- the inner worlds are all futuristic while the outer worlds are poor and just look like the old west. **

**-The story follows the crew of a smuggling ship**

**-the captain and first officer are veterans of a horrific war that solidified Alliance control of the verse**

**So, the first few chapters will be gathering up the characters. We'll probably have a few more join the **_**Pacifica **_**(which is supposed to look a bit like the**_** Serenity**_** from Firefly). **

**Rachel may occasionally make an appearance as The Oracle. Anyone who has seen the Firefly movie ****Serenity**** are familiar with the character 'Mr. Universe.' She'll sort of act in that capacity. **

**So, your uncensored, unabridged thoughts and comments are greatly appreciated at this point. In case you didn't notice, this chapter was rather long... almost 8000 words, I think. Most of them will probably be like that; the story is going to be roughly episodic in nature, with each chapter pretty much being able to stand alone, and sometimes with significant skips in time between chapters.**


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